Einsamkeit
by Peregrine Williams
Summary: No real pairing, mostly historical fic about Prussia's experiences during the end of WW2 and the Berlin Wall event.
1. You Can't Take Me

((Basically, I had a whole bunch of specific headcannons as to what happened to Prussia during the end of World War Two and the Berlin wall event, so I decided to string them together and write it. The only other things I've seen that are somewhat similar to this are Russia/Prussia pairing fics, which in my opinion makes no sense at all, but I digress. This fic has no pairing. Maybe a tiny bit of mentioned Pruhun if anything. Mostly just angst eh heh heh.

Tried to be pretty historically accurate, but playing the artistic license card for better story flow and making every year equal to a month.

Also I write Russia pretty mean because I think that is what his character is like. Really not trying to offend anyone. ^^; Russia actually terrifies me, and I find it difficult to write him when I whimper every time he comes onscreen. I hope this is okay anyway. Warnings for violence/torture.))

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><p><em>Headcannon 1 – Nations refer to eachother as their country names at meetings and formal occasions, as well as informally if they don't know the other nation very well. Human names are used between friendssiblings/more familiar relations only._

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><p>He was surrounded.<p>

No, no, he couldn't lose this war.

He could _not_ lose this war.

He had only lost one other big war in his lifetime and the consequences for that-

He would not _let_ it happen again.

He knew as well as any sane German in the country that the causes of this war were wrong, but they were too far gone now. It was too late to fix it peacefully. If they lost-

_No._ He leapt at the Englishman. Long out of bullets, as they all were, he swung his long, knifed rifle like a sword up to his neck. The Englishman blocked it with his own rifle, barely.

Swords were what Prussia was good at, not these silly firearms: weapons of cowards, killing at a distance, relying on luck. Prussia was the _best_ when it came to swords. As good as the Englishman was, Prussia could take him out in a second. The problem was-

He hissed and jumped back as his left shoulder was sliced open. A piece of fabric fluttered downwards, stained red. It blended with the rest of the ground. He whirled around to face his other opponent, his own blood dripping down the Frenchman's rifle, his expression blank. Very unlike himself.

This was the problem Prussia faced. Every time he tried to land a blow on one opponent, a different one would retaliate behind his back. He was exhausted and injured.

_But he could not lose._

He advanced and parried expertly with the Frenchman, whipping back and forth, steel flashing. He gritted his teeth and ignored the pain, as he could see the same amount of blood on his own blade as the Frenchman's.

Suddenly there was a flash from the other direction, and he swung around to block another blow from the Englishman while ducking under the Frenchman's rifle.

The Frenchman stumbled slightly as his blow did not connect. He was too close now. Perfect.

Prussia swung around to the Englishman, shoving the butt of his rifle back to slam into the Frenchman's knee. He cried out and fell back as Prussia started slashing at the Englishman.

Laughing now despite the fire in his left arm, he had forgotten that France and England were not his only enemies.

A mistake that would prove to be the most disastrous of his life as his leg was suddenly snapped in two.

He screamed and fell in the mud at the surprised Englishman's feet. A soft chuckle sounded behind him as something hit him hard in the stomach. He coughed at the impact and felt something warm drip down his cheek before his face hit the ground.

"Give up now for your own good, da comrade?"

It was the Russian. _Verdammt._

He turned his head to the side and caught sight of his little brother. He had seen what had happened and was desperately trying to fight his way towards him. The American moron was giving him a run for his money though.

_Verdammt._

_He could not lose._

He grabbed the Englishman's ankle and pulled him to the ground. Forcing himself up on his good knee, he swung his blade at the Russian. He grabbed it and yanked it out of Prussia's hands, then swung it back to knock him upside the head with its butt. Hard.

His vision blurred, but he managed to stay conscious as he hit the ground again. He was breathing hard now, trying to control the pain and get his mind to work properly. It was all fuzzy. No. Focus. Ludwig. He had to win for Ludwig.

_He could not lose._

He tried to get up again, then felt something on his broken leg.

"Pathetic."

He looked around just in time to hear the _crunch_ as the Russian's boot pressed down on his leg. Bone broke through skin and he screamed again, eyes watering. The pain was too much. He fought with everything he had to not black out.

Suddenly the pressure stopped. He curled his arms around it protectively and looked up blearily.

"Francis…" he choked.

The Frenchman glanced down at him, then angrily back at the Russian, who he had just shoved aside.

"That's enough," he hissed.

The Englishman stood and brushed himself off. "Indeed. He is unarmed and injured. It's done."

The Russian cocked his head. "Ah, but you see, I was the one who defeated him, which means he is mine."

The Frenchman flinched and hesitated. "… That may be so, but you can't-"

"I can do whatever I want." He moved towards Prussia again.

He shut his eyes in preparation for the next blow. Instead, a hand grabbed a chunkful of his snow white hair and lifted him off the ground.

He drew blood biting his lip in an effort to hold back another yell. His leg felt like it was just going to fall off.

From his now vertical position and his increasing blood loss, he suddenly felt extremely light-headed. He couldn't stay awake any longer.

He felt himself being dragged away by his hair, his leg jostling painfully. He only barely registered the still-angry voices of his two other opponents, and that his brother was yelling something at him from further away, still being fended off by the American and a few others. He shut his eyes. There was too much fog.

He had… lost.

But no. _It's okay, bruder. I won't give up. I'm not done yet. I'll get back to you. I'll help you win. I will. I promise. Just after… a little… rest…_

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><p><em>Headcannon 2 - during WW2 (and WW1) the French were very much against the Germans and hated them with a passion. France himself, however, was reluctant because of the friendship he once shared with Prussia.<em>


	2. Viva la Vida

((Ahhhhhh I wrote this a bit ago and liked it but now I feel really self conscious about it idk.))

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><p>"Fine! I lost! Take my land! Take my money! Take whatever you want!" Germany fell to his knees. "But I beg you. Please. <em>Please<em> don't take my brother."

"Germany-"

"He's the only family I have. _Please._"

England stared down at him. Germany was an extremely proud nation. For him to degrade himself like this…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw France turn away and pull out his handkerchief. He remembered that he had once been friends with the Prussian.

England cleared his throat with difficulty. "It has been nearly a month since Russia broke off communications with us. That bloody 'Union' of his… I expect we'll have to do something about soon."

"'Bout time," America grunted angrily. "My boss won't let me do a thing about it right now, he doesn't want to start another war so soon. We really need to take that Commie down though. He's got more than just Prussia trapped in there with him. "

Germany looked up at them with a desperate hope in his eyes.

A lump caught in England's throat. He had never seen him anything like this. His thoughts drifted back to when America had been taken away from him. It was his own choice, but…

He grabbed his recent enemy's hand and lifted him to his feet, making a decision.

"We'll get your brother back."

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><p>Prussia woke to something cool on his forehead. It felt kind of nice. A wet washcloth? He wondered where he was. He felt something else. On his leg. On his <em>broken<em> leg.

He sat bolt upright, pain exploding through his shoulders and head. A hand clapped over his mouth before he could cry out.

"Shh. It's okay. Please be quiet, I'm trying to help. Okay?"

It was a woman's voice. It was too dark to see more than her outline, and he couldn't make out much of his surroundings other than that he was on some kind of crude bed in a small stone room. Her voice though, it was very gentle. He felt like he could trust her, whoever she was.

He nodded and the hand went back to his leg. She unwrapped the bandages that bound it. It looked straight. She must have set it while he was unconscious.

"How long was I out?" he whispered, whincing as she smoothed cream over the wound where his bone had protruded.

"A few days. It would be best if you went back to sleep though, until your wounds are healed."

A few days? What had he been-

His stomach clenched. "My brother, do you know my brother? Is he alright? The war, what happened? What-"

She put a finger to his lips. "Germany, right?" she whispered. "I expect he's fine. He lost, but he's alive."

_Verdammt. _He hadn't been there for him. He must be worried.

"Does he know where I am?"

"I believe so."

"Can I see him? Call him? Let him know I'm okay?"

"… No."

He looked at her suspiciously, not that she could see. "Who are you?"

"… My name is Yekaterina."

He drew a sharp intake of breath. "You are… Russian."

"I am Ukranian, though for all intents and purposes right now, I suppose I am considered Russian. As are you."

"What?"

"Please," she hissed. "Be quiet. I'm not supposed to be helping you. But yes, you, along with everyone else in this house, is part of the Soviet Union.

"Whether they want to be or not."

She finished wrapping up his leg once again. "Now please, at least pretend to be asleep until I come back. If my brother finds you awake…"

She broke off as footsteps sounded in the distance. She slid quickly out of the room, _the cell_ as he could now tell it was, and shut the door behind her.

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><p>He didn't know how long he waited in that cell. There were no windows, hardly any light, no way to tell time. It must have been a week at least. Kat (what he started to call Yekaterina because he had trouble pronouncing it) visited him once or twice a day. He couldn't tell which. She smuggled him as much food as she could conceal in her clothes, but he was always starving. He figured he should really not be that hungry, since it wasn't like he could actually move, but he was. He became more and more possessive of his iron cross necklace, turning it over and over in his hand constantly, never letting it go. It was the only familiar object he owned now.<p>

The worst thing though, was the guilt. Nothing to distract him, the only thing he could think about was his defeat. His defeat and the fact that he hadn't done anything to save his brother. Not that he really could have, but…

West was probably worried about him. (Not that West needed to worry about him.) He was certainly worried about West. He had made a promise to get back to him though. He would keep his promise. He would not give up.

If only he could just _move. Exercise._ Do _something_ to distract him from his thoughts, keep in shape. He could almost feel himself getting weaker.

He couldn't give up. He needed to be ready for his chance to get out of here.

… Wherever he was.

Kat had kept telling him not to move, both for the sake of his injuries and to avoid detection by 'her brother.' He supposed that she meant Russia. That would make the most sense. He didn't care anymore though, he couldn't stand doing nothing for any longer.

He sat up and rolled his shoulders. They were sore, but the wound seemed to have healed. Carefully, he lifted his splinted leg slightly and eased it off the side of the bed until his foot touched the ground. He winced as the blood rushed into it after being horizontal for so long. He took a breath and ignored the pins and needles, setting his other foot on the ground. Bracing himself on the side of the bed, he pushed himself up on his good foot. He wavered and put one hand on the stone wall to steady himself, but he was standing. After over a week of just lying there, that was good, right?

He turned around to face the bed and put his hands back on the edge. Locking his ankles, he hopped back on his good foot until he was diagonal to the ground, then started doing push-ups. Since building muscle in his legs was out of the question was out of the question, he might as well strengthen his arms and abdomen. He was disappointed that he only got up to thirty-five before his arms started shaking.

Crawling back into bed, he told himself that he had to take it slow or risk injuring himself again.

_Verdammt._


	3. Get Off My Back

((My Poland was largely inspired by this amazing mini-fic by the way. .net/s/7100853/1/Lost_Scene Credit where credit is due and all that.))

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><p><em>Headcannon 3 - Belarus was always possessive of Russia, but she only started the whole psychotic 'marrymemarrymemarryme' <em>after_ the dissolution of the Soviet Union. The point is that she wanted the Union back. During it, she was content to be living with him._

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><p>However much later it was, when he had reached a solid seventy-five rep limit, a heavier pair of footsteps than Kat's sounded outside Prussia's cell door. He quickly, though somewhat reluctantly, straightened himself out on the bed and shut his eyes. He <em>hated<em> hiding. Of all the things you could accuse Prussia of being, he was not a coward. He hated feeling like one.

The door opened a crack and bright white light flooded in, the first real light he had seen since regaining consciousness. It stung even through his eyelids but he managed not to flinch.

He heard the heavy boots enter and stop beside his bed.

"Come now, you can't _still_ be sleeping like a baby after two weeks."

It was the Russian. _Verdammt._

Suddenly the bed dropped out from underneath him and he hit the ground hard. He let out a sharp gasp before he could stop himself as his broken leg met stone. Apparently, the bed was a folding wall cot.

_Verdammt._

"So you _are_ awake. Good, good."

Prussia struck out with his good leg, but the tall man danced deftly aside and returned with a swift kick to his ribs. He coughed blood again.

The Russian chuckled in his cruelly innocent way. "You are very stupid." He bent down on one knee beside Prussia's face. "You will be living in my house now, which means you will follow my rules; the first of which is that if you try to hurt me, I will hurt you, da?"

Something cold and metal fastened around Prussia's wrists and the Russian stood again. "Now come along, it's time for dinner. I'll take those off when you learn to behave."

Prussia opened his eyes, surprised. He pushed himself up to stand on his now-cuffed hands and hobbled to the door being held open for him. He was extremely distrustful, but Kat had not visited today —at least, he thought it was a day— and his hunger was overwhelming.

He blinked his eyes a few times to try and adjust to the bright light as he stumbled down the hallway, his cuffed hands on the wall for support. A woman in overalls suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway, stared at him for a moment, then disappeared. A moment later she was back, hurrying towards him with a cane.

Her chest was… large.

She handed him the cane and fell into step behind him and he nodded his thanks. He hated that he probably looked incredibly lame, but it did help a lot.

Russia ignored them both and turned up a flight of stairs. Prussia groaned, but made his way up slowly after him. The woman supported him slightly and whispered when Russia was too far ahead to hear.

"You're bleeding. Did he hurt you very badly again?"

As soon as she spoke he recognized the voice as Kat's. He had never seen more than her vague outline before.

Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, he shook his head. "I'm okay."

They reached the top of the stairs and entered a rather small dining room with a large table. It was set for eight people. Russia sat to join the five already present. Three other men looked extremely nervous, one of which Prussia vaguely recognized. He lived nearby. Lithuania? The fourth man seemed grumpy. He was… Poland? Prussia remembered him being one of the first that West had taken during the War. Were they all trapped here too? The fifth was a woman who seemed to be fine with it they were.

Kat motioned for him to sit down, then went through the door on the opposite end of the room and returned with a large pot. Whatever it was, it smelled pretty good. Any kind of food probably smelled good to him right now, though.

He eased himself carefully into the only free seat that wasn't beside Russia. Kat sat beside him and began ladling what looked like an orange stew into bowls. His stomach growled, but he looked at it suspiciously.

Kat glanced over to see Russia talking with the long haired woman, then whispered in Prussia's ear. "It's borsht. It's alright, no poison or anything." She took a spoonful to prove her point.

It was all the encouragement Prussia needed. He ate so quickly he hardly even tasted it. He would have just drank it from the bowl, but he didn't want Russia to see how desperate he was. As soon as his leg was healed he would make him pay for this. Pay _dearly._

Kat prodded his arm to get his attention, then took a homemade bun and dipped it in her soup before eating. Prussia copied her. It was deliciously filling.

After he finished, he did his best to look like he was still busy and took the chance to observe his fellow captives. He was surprised to see that quite a few of them were looking at _him_, though they quickly averted their eyes when he noticed. Lithuania and the other two nervous men he didn't know were eating very slowly and hesitantly, but didn't seem much the worse for wear. He noticed, however, that Poland had quite a few bruises and looked very irritated. From what Prussia had seen of Poland before, this was unusual. He must be resisting too. Maybe he had a cell like his. Prussia suddenly had a lot of respect for the man despite his girlish tendencies. He remembered that he was Lizzie's best friend. There was more to him than met the eye.

Right now he was whispering to Lithuania, trying not to be heard over Russia and the long-haired woman talking. The woman… she was very beautiful, but there was something very off about her. She was asking Russia now what he wanted done with… the other people. Were there _more _nations trapped here? Or were they talking about… could they be talking about _his _people? The people of all the nations they captured? What _were_ they going to do to his people? It seemed like they were discussing the construction of something…

Before he could eavesdrop further, Russia declared the meal over by rising from his seat. Kat began to clear the dishes as the rest stood. Russia gestured to Lithuania and he made his way sheepishly over to Prussia.

"I'm to take you downstairs," he said apologetically.

Prussia grunted and started to hobble back, while Poland fell into step with Lithuania. As soon as Russia left the room however, Poland moved to stand directly in his way, his hands on his hips.

"Look, Prussia," he said angrily. "I'm like, still totally angry at you for what you and your brother did to my people, and I'm not going to forgive you," he prodded Prussia in the chest, "but I hate it here more than I hate you, and I know you do too, so, I guess, like, I'm willing to help you out if you help me out. I like, just wanted you to know that."

Prussia looked at him for a long moment, then, seeing no reason to do otherwise, held out his hand. Poland shook it and gave him a small nod before continuing down the flight of stairs.

Lithuania wrung his hands together nervously. "Oh please oh please don't try anything Feliks. You know what happened last time…"

Poland ignored him.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, he disappeared into a room a bit further down the hallway. A lock clicked behind him—a lock on the outside of the door.

Prussia limped to his own cell, but as he approached he began to have second thoughts. If he went back in, who was to say when he would come out again? Who was to say he _would_ come out again? He would probably be able to take Lithuania even with his broken leg. He could escape right now. He could release Poland, and he could help Prussia up the stairs… but… even if he escaped the house, how would he get away? There were probably guards around, and he couldn't expect Poland to take them all…

No, he had to wait. He had to wait until his leg was better _Verdammt. _He _hated_ waiting. _Hated_ being so unawesomely helpless. _Verdammt verdammt verdammt._

Lithuania held the cell door open for him, but Prussia hesitated. _Verdammt he did not want to go back in there. _Back to not knowing what was going on outside, back to not being able to see, back to not knowing how much time had passed, back to sitting on the cold stone so completely and utterly _alone_ except for the few minutes Kat could spare. Despite how much he boasted, Prussia had never truly been alone. When he was a kid, he had spent most of his time fighting with (or against) Hungary, and after that he had little West to take care of. West was always there.

_But not anymore, and it's your fault._

It took all of his willpower to step forward. The lock clicked, and there was darkness once again.


	4. Pet

((Yay update before Christmas.))

Prussia was invited upstairs for dinner every day after that. He controlled himself as best he could, forcing himself to be patient while fuming internally, but it seemed to word since after two weeks Russia allow him out of his cell without the handcuffs.

Now that Russia was near his cell daily however, Kat's visits had to dwindle to once a week. Any more was too risky. This meant that, along with being his only social interaction, dinner was also his only meal. She left extra bandages for him since he now had to change them himself, which was harder than it seemed considering there was no light. He spent the majority of his time, again, trying to keep fit: pushups, sit-ups, any exercise he could think of that wouldn't harm his leg any further. He did his best to stretch it and slowly begin to put more weight on it as the weeks went by. He also practiced his sword strokes to make sure he didn't get rusty. He had an unquenchable need to keep moving, stay active, never rest lest his thoughts and memories catch up to him in the silence.

A few more weeks later, Kat was the one who came to fetch him for dinner. Before leaving the cell, she checked over his leg and declared it healed enough to walk on normally, as long as the brace stayed in place for a while longer. She moved to inspect his other old injuries, especially his shoulder wound, then stopped abruptly, looking confused.

"You're... getting skinnier." She felt the muscles in his arm again. "Are you... _exercising?_" she asked in shock.

"I'm... taking it slow..."

"Your body hasn't recovered yet! If you keep straining yourself... you could reopen something! If you use all your energy to exercise, your body won't be able to heal itself."

He grunted as she helped him to his feet. "It wouldn't be a problem if I could get more than one meal a day. I'm not going to give in and get weak because of whatever sick plan he has to keep me hungry all the time."

Kat looked away as they started down the hallway. "That part... wasn't part of a plan," she said quietly. "None of us, including Russia, get more than one meal a day. There's... there's not enough food to have any more than that. We're rationing."

"Not enough..." He stopped, confused. "Why wouldn't there be enough food?"

"It was... one of the unforeseen problems with communism..." she trailed off as they approached Lithuania fumbling with Poland's lock.

Prussia fell into step with the blond as they made their way up the stairs, uncomprehending. How was there not enough food in all the primarily-farmland countries of the Soviet Union for them to not be able to have three meals a day?

Is _that_ why he always felt hungry, hungrier even than usual? Because his people were _starving?_

Poland nudged him, distracting him from his thoughts. "How long until your leg is, like, better?" he whispered.

Prussia grunted."I dunno, a few more weeks I guess."

"When you're good, keep, like, pretending to limp, kay? I have a bit of a plan."

Prussia nodded, and they took their seats at the table. He flinched when he looked up. Russia hadn't entered the room yet, but the long-haired woman was glaring at him coldly from across the table. Had she seen them whispering?

She leaned forward, interlacing her long, thin fingers under her chin. They would look quite graceful and delicate, if not for them ending in nails that were more than a little reminiscent of claws.

Her deep grey eyes bored into his own transparent irises and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up involuntarily.

"If you do _anything_ to harm or disobey my brother," she said slowly, "I will personally see to it that you will never see the light of another day."

His first instinct was to shoot her his usual arrogant smirk in a way of saying 'bring it on.' What could this skinny little woman do to him? Something in the way she narrowed his eyes at his challenge, however, was so immensely unnerving that he was almost happy that Russia came into the room at that moment and broke her eye contact. Almost.

The very tall man sat down beside the creepy woman, smiling warmly at everyone present. Prussia forced his expression to be one of neutrality instead of the pure hatred he felt.

Kat brought in the food, and they began to eat. Russia was smiling even more than usual, like he had just received very good news. A sense of foreboding settled in the pit of Prussia's stomach.

At the end of the meal, Russia _didn't_ gesture for Prussia and Poland to be taken downstairs as he always did. Instead, he clapped his hands, his grin widening, and looked from one to the other.

"I have rooms for you now!" he said excitedly. "Come, come!"

The six captive nations looked at each other in confusion. Only the long-haired woman seemed unsurprised by the news, though she certainly did not look as though she was happy about it. Prussia and Poland followed the tall man suspiciously as he led them down the hallway on the opposite end of the dining room. He opened two doors and gestured them inside.

"You are free to move about the house now, so long as you don't try to go outside, da?" He smiled at them again, this time a bit more darkly, as if to signify that they would regret it dearly if they made any attempt to escape.

He then left them to get settled. The blond and the albino stood for a minute, still looking at each other incredulously, wondering what on Earth could have happened that Russia would not only let them out of their cells, but give them their own rooms and free reign of the house.

Prussia turned to look at the room. It was small and simple, but comfortable-looking. There was a twin-sized bed with what looked like hand-made covers, a night table with a lamp, and a dresser with a mirror. The window that covered half of the opposite wall was completely blocked out and covered with a grate, so that he could not see outside. A little light _did_ show through however, so that he would at least be able to tell if it was night or day. All in all, it _was_ quite an improvement from the stone cell and wall cot.

He walked over to the bed and sat down. It was nice. He became even more suspicious.

Kat suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking very worried. Prussia stood immediately. "What's going on?" he demanded, somewhat harshly. "Do you know anything?"

"I just heard," she said nervously. "He gave you more freedom because he knows you can't leave anymore. Or at least, it's a lot harder..."

"What do you-"

"He was tired of all the people leaving for the better living conditions of the West, so he declared your land the German Democratic Republic, separate from the rest of Germany and with a closed border. No one can get out without a government-approved pass."

"What?" Prussia almost choked. "But he can't... he can't just _do_ that...?"

Kat looked at her feet. "Apparently he can," she said quietly. "It's basically what he did to all of us."

Prussia was speechless. West was going to do something about this though, right? This was going too far. West would put a stop to it. Even if he couldn't free Prussia, he would at least rescue his people, right? West would not stand for this.

Right?


	5. Uprising

((Sorry for the long wait! I'm never going to give up on this, but I lost my inspiration for a while. I'm actually currently in Berlin though so I got it back! Man, Germany is definitely my favourite place in the world. Anyways, the last bit of this was actually one of the first scenes I wrote, so I'm excited to finally get to it. Even though it's depressing. Oops. I'll hopefully update sooner next. Also chapter titles are now relevant songs because I said so. Artists: Bryan Adams, Coldplay, Bryan Adams, A Perfect Circle, Muse.))

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><p>Prussia's new position in the Soviet household felt strange. He had a private room to himself that he could do anything he wanted with, and he could go wherever he wanted in the house at any time (except Russia's private study), and yet he was still very obviously a prisoner.<p>

He spent most of the time in his room exercising or helping Kat in the kitchen, trying his best to pay her back a little for what she had risked for him before.

Everyone in the house was forced to eat dinner together every night, but other than that Prussia avoided Russia like the plague. He was somehow _worse_ now, if that was even possible. Whenever he saw Prussia he would try to strike up a conversation in a friendly manner, or offer him some extra food. Prussia gritted his teeth and acted as politely as possible towards him, but it was getting harder and harder to contain his all-consuming rage at the idea that a few friendly gestures could make up for beating him, crippling him, imprisoning him, taking away his land, mistreating his people, and keeping him from his brother. Staying quiet and playing along was probably the hardest thing Prussia had ever done in his life, but he couldn't do anything else until his leg had fully healed. It made it even harder to bear when he found out that a few other nations, including Hungary and Romania, had also been taken by the Soviet Union, though they at least were able to remain in their countries so long as they stayed obedient. If he had hurt her at all…

Prussia succeeded — barely — in being passive for another few months, though the monotony and continued lack of information was forever grating on his nerves on top of everything else. Even after his leg no longer pained him, it took another long while for him to work it until it matched the strength of his other leg. If he had been human, he would probably have had a slight limp for the rest of his life.

Finally, Poland called him over to his room after dinner one night. The blond checked to make sure that Russia and the creepy woman (who Prussia now knew to be 'Belarus') hadn't seen them, then shut the door. "So like, you're still limping, but your leg is better now, right?"

"Yeah. Been exercising too, so I'm good to run."

Poland nodded. "I've been working at casually getting info out of Toris, so he doesn't, like, suspect anything. Russia trusts him the most for some reason so he tells him a bunch."

Prussia scoffed. "Probably because he knows he's too much of a pansy to cross him."

Poland frowned. "_Anyways_, I know Russia's schedule for the next week, like, when he's going to be out of the house and stuff. Belarus usually goes with him too so she's not a problem. I also know when the outside guard shift changes, so we can get out and have like, as much time as possible before they notice." He paused, sighing. "I wish we could like, take Toris and the others with us, but I'm pretty sure they'd rat on the rest of us if they got caught doing anything."

Prussia sat and took in the information. "Once we're out we'll be able to come back with help for them. I still don't really understand why they don't just book it out of here. They're allowed outside."

Poland shrugged. "Toris won't talk about that."

"So what, we just sneak out when no one's looking? What happens when we do get out?"

"I was hoping you could like, take out any guards that do get in our way. From what I heard there aren't many to begin with. I nicked some stuff from the kitchen to help with that."

He tossed Prussia a dagger-like knife, which he caught and twirled, testing its weight. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"I also got some stuff that should let us like break into a car if we need it to get away quick once we're out."

Prussia wrapped the knife in a handkerchief and shoved it as discretely as possible down one of his pant legs. "So what's the earliest this can happen?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

* * *

><p>Poland knocked on Prussia's door at about four o'clock the next day. He finished tucking the knife into his pants and joined the blond in the hallway.<p>

"Okay, we're totally set. Russia and Belarus just left and the guard switches in like ten minutes. Oh wait, one more thing: we need the key," Poland made sure no one else was around, then tiptoed past the kitchen door and down the opposite hallway, resting his hand on the doorknob of Russia's private study. He hesitated.

Prussia pushed past him impatiently. He opened the door quietly and strode across the room to the desk, snatching the key from a dish beside a stack of important-looking documents. He took a quick glance around at the cluttered room, taking in the sheer amount of paper, maps, and books on the many shelves, as well as the portraits of past leaders hung on the walls and the stash of vodka under the desk. If only he had time to snoop around, find his battle plans, weaknesses, secrets, news of the outside world…

He tore his eyes away and made his way back down the hallway with Poland. Prussia inserted the key into the front door and turned. The lock clicked open.

"Why is it this, like, easy?" Poland asked nervously.

"Like I said, the stupid oaf doesn't think anyone would cross him, even if they had the chance." He eased the door open slightly, peering out into the yard. There was a guard with his back towards them at the front gate, which was about fifteen meters out from the door. He looked like he was just getting into position, so he must have just arrived. That would buy them some time before anyone found him. There was no one else in sight.

Prussia quickly ducked out the door and pulled his knife, skirting the bushes lining the pathway silently. He was never really one for stealth, but he could do it if the occasion demanded. He managed to shadow the guard without being noticed until he was close enough to clap a hand over his mouth and slit his throat from behind. He glanced around, then waved Poland over and they set off running down the street. No one seemed to have noticed yet.

They turned from the garden-lined driveway onto a main road. Something felt oddly familiar about the street, but it couldn't be-

He stumbled to a stop from his run, almost falling over out of sheer disbelief.

Poland skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding crashing into him. "What? What is it?"

"Berlin," the albino said quietly.

"What?"

Turned around to look again, but there was no mistaking it. _He was in Berlin._

All this time he thought he was out in the wilds of Russia somewhere, thousands of miles from Germany, and he was in the _capital_. His _house_ was just _down the street._

He could hardly contain his joy. It was all he could do to not laugh like a maniac as he sprinted down the street to his house. _His home._

_He was going home._

All the weariness and pain from the lack of food and the injuries he had sustained from his year and a half of _Hell_ melted away. He was going to see West, Elizaveta, Feliciano, Kiku… he could even see Francis and Antonio again now that the war was over. He was so happy he could hug _Austria_ right now.

He read the familiar street names as they flashed past, Poland struggling to keep up. Most of the buildings seemed to be in disrepair, which was unusual for pretty much anywhere in Germany, but he supposed that was to be expected post-war. He didn't care either way.

Finally, he reached his own street and turned down it, then stopped dead.

It took him a long time to actually register what he was seeing. There was… a wall. There was a wall in the middle of the street, where the road should have been.

He walked up to it slowly and laid a hand on the cold stone. _How…?_

His heart turned to ice as the realisation washed over him.

_No._

_Nononononononono._

He looked to the right and left. The wall seemed to go on forever.

_No, verdammt, no!_

He slammed his fists against the barrier and sank to his knees. There were no handholds. Barbed wire lined the top. There was no way he could climb it.

_West…_

West was on the other side of this wall. Prussia was sure of it. He promised West that he would come back. _He would not give up._

He got up and ran again. The wall couldn't go on forever. He would find the end. He would get to the other side.

Poland called something after him and an alarm bell sounded from up above. He ignored both. _He would get to the end. He would get to West._

Where _did_ it end? He must be halfway across the city by now. His lungs were on fire but he didn't care about that either.

The guards were coming for him now. Some got in his way but he shoved them aside. Pretty soon though, there were more than he could handle. They grabbed him and he could not break free no matter how much he struggled and roared.

A car pulled up and a tall, silver-haired man got out. He carried a long metal pipe. The man approached and the pipe came down, and there was darkness.

* * *

><p><em>So that's why no one had come for him.<em>

Prussia sat on his old wall cot in his cell, his ankles now shackled to the wall. He held his dislocated shoulder from the harsh beating he had gotten for trying to escape. He expected Kat would come along eventually and help him put it back in place. He was pretty much numb at this point, but he couldn't imagine how much worse off he would be if Kat wasn't there.

He understood a lot more now. He understood why no one had tried to rescue him for a year and a half. He understood why there had been no attempts at communication. He understood why there was never any news from the rest of the world. Why there was hardly any food. Why the rest of the Soviet Union was allowed to leave the house, and yet always came back even when it was clear that they hated it too. Why everyone had given up.

They were trapped. Not in the house, in the _country_. Nothing and no one could get in or out.


	6. Sound the Bugle

((This is the chapter I associated with a song the most. I always thought it fit this time of Prussia's life really well. By Bryan Adams/Hans Zimmer. Bunch of headcanons in-story for this one...))

* * *

><p><em>Headcanon 4 - Russia is the only thing that Prussia is truely afraid of, and it's because he's so terrified of something like the Berlin Wall ever happening again.<em>

* * *

><p>Prussia hit the wall hard, a few ribs cracking from the impact of those stupid boots. It wasn't even fair fight, how his ankles were shackled to the wall, and Russia handcuffed him anytime he felt like doling out some punishment. There was no way he could hope to fight back and do any kind of damage with his limbs essentially immobilised, so it was all he could do to brace himself for impact and position himself so that the heavy blows would do the least damage possible. That, and keep up a steady stream of verbal abuse.<p>

"Stupid freaking fat commie," he spat viciously. "Too much of a coward to fight me like a man. Just have to make sure I'm good and defenseless before ever striking, huh? That's the only reason I'm here in the first place. Why don't you let me out of these chains and then we'll see what happens?"

Russia hoisted him off his feet by his throat, cutting his rant short. "You ungrateful arrogant kraut," he growled. "What do I have to do? I take you in after your humiliating defeat, give you food and your own room, and accept you in as part of our family. I could have done anything with you - you are mine - and yet I decide to show you kindness. This is how you repay me?"

He threw him back against the wall again. Prussia slid to the ground, coughing a few times to clear his throat, then let out a very long, completely humourless laugh.

"Kindness?" he choked through his near hysteria. He forced himself to stand and ran at him in a blind rage. _"You took everything from me!"_ He threw himself at the Russian, his shoulder slamming into his chest and making them both stumble backwards._ "Every single freaking thing I had in life you took from me!"_ he roared, slamming into him again, his eyes watering equal parts out of anger and the pain of exertion. _"Don't you _dare_ talk to me about your freaking twisted kindness! Don't you _dare!"

Russia grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to the ground. His face scraped against the stone while his wrists bled from the strain on his cuffs.

"You know nothing, ignorant kraut," The tall man hissed. "No one wants you. I met no resistance when I put up my wall. None at all." He released him and left, slamming the cell door.

Prussia laid where he had fallen for a long while, not even bothering to adjust his position so that his wrists didn't bleed out.

It was true. He had lost everything: his freedom, his land, his people, his friends, his family... he wouldn't be surprised if his country status didn't even apply anymore. Hundreds of years he had worked to conquer that land, develop his country, form those alliances. He had been the greatest empire in Europe. Now he didn't even know if he could call himself 'Prussia' anymore. Maybe he had lost his name too. He refused to call himself the 'GDR.' It wasn't him. Maybe he was just 'Gilbert' now, and nothing more. He had lost everything, and now he wasn't sure if he could get it back.

* * *

><p>Sometimes Gilbert wished he was human. The evening of the third straight week of occasional beatings was one of those times, though that was an estimate. He had already given up on trying to keep track of the passing days, as it was inevitable that he would be in here for quite a while.<p>

He laid on his side on the cold floor of his cell where he had once again fallen. the position was becoming more and more familiar. Russia had taken the handcuffs off when he had left this time, and Gilbert absentmindedly traced the traits the trails of blood seeping from his fresh wounds, waiting for them to clot and scab properly.

Everything hurt. Everything always hurt now. Moving made it worse, so he didn't do much of that anymore. Moving also required energy, and he wasn't being fed. Pain was not new to him, not in the least, but this was the first pain he had experienced that he could do nothing to fix or prevent.

Sometimes Gilbert wished he was human. As a nation, he knew he could not die. This had been proven by the fact that nations like Ancient Rome still appeared from time to time. The only way a nation would cease to exist was if they were completely and utterly forgotten, when their personification was o longer needed by anyone in any way. No matter how much damage was done to his physical body, even if it was well beyond the limits of what a normal man could endure, Gilbert could not die.

Even if he wanted to.

Gilbert still refused to make any kind of noise that revealed his pain or desperation during beatings - he would never give the Russia that satisfaction - but he had stopped fighting back, verbally or otherwise. There wasn't a point to it anymore.

If he really thought about it, he knew he would never give up his nationhood for anything - he had enjoyed being an empire too much - but that didn't stop him from thinking about it when he was alone, body broken, in the darkness of his cell.

It didn't stop the nightmares.

* * *

><p>Russia didn't allow Kat to visit very often anymore. She was able to sneak in a week or so later to check on how his shoulder was doing. She was worried that the old gash would open up again. Gilbert sat quietly as she felt around for any bruising or torn muscle.<p>

"You really shouldn't have tried to escape," she said quietly. "He won't let you come up for quite a while now."

Gilbert said nothing.

She stopped her examination, then moved to sit cross-legged on the cot beside him. She hesitated, looking at her hands in her lap, then asked, quite seriously, "Your life, before… all of this, what was it like?"

Gilbert looked up and stared at her, confused. "My… life?"

"Your friends, how you spent your time, anything."

He thought for a moment. "Well… I lived with my brother…" He smiled almost unconsciously as he remembered. "We had a pretty big house, which was always completely spotless because West could never stand anything being out of place. the only slack I could ever get was my own room, because West was too scared to even set foot in there.

"Hmm… West always had his little friends come over, Feliciano and Kiku. They were weird, but man could that Italian cook.

"I hung out with Antonio and…" A lump caught in his throat. He shook it off, irritated. "And Francis. We played a lot of pranks on the English jerk for him, and then that pansy Austria for me." He chuckled. "They were pretty scared to help me sometimes though, because if Li-… uh, Hungary ever caught us we would get a good smack with her damn frying pan. Not that it ever bothered the awesome me of course." He rambled on, feeling a bit more like his old self again.

"Why would Hungary do that?" Kat asked.

"She was married to the guy and really protective of him. She had to be, seeing as he couldn't protect himself. She was always really strong. She used to be really fun too, she was my best friend when we were kids, then the pansy made her into a 'lady' and it… wasn't the same."

Kat let out a soft chuckle.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Oh, it's nothing," she leaned back against the wall. "It seems like you had fun."

"Yeah…" That was all gone now though. _No, it wasn't. He would get out of here. Eventually. He promised._

Kat went to work on his back again, rubbing some salve on his other cuts. "Hey Kat," Gilbert said after a moment.

"Hmm?"

He hesitated. "What's your brother's deal? I mean, why does he do this kind of stuff? Treat people this way? What does he want?"

Kat sighed and applied some more salve. "My brother, he's…," she paused, choosing her words carefully. "He is not evil, or particularly mean-spirited, as you might think. Though I do not condone his actions in the least, I believe that his mind is simply very childish, especially when it comes to emotions and relationships."

She finished with the salve and sat back down beside him. "He would like friends, but he seems to not understand that for it to work, _he_ must care about what the other person wants. He believes he can _train_ people to love him. Toris, Eduard, and Raivis have been playing along out of fear, and he probably thinks he has succeeded with them. He was so happy when you started obeying him and eating dinner with us, he thought he was finally getting through to you too. You and Poland were going to be the new members of the happy family he was building in his mind, adding to his 'collection.' He was very…," she hesitated, "disappointed when you tried to escape."

Gilbert snorted, massaging his shoulder. "Yeah, sure."

Kat smiled apologetically. "The main problem with his childishness is that if he doesn't get his way, he will take it out on whoever's fault he thinks it is. He throws tantrums."

Gilbert gave it a bit of thought. "I guess that kind of makes sense, but I still hate him. He has no right to do this to anyone."

"And I don't disagree," she sighed, "but he doesn't seem to be changing his ways anytime soon… no matter what I do."

"So… why do _you_ play along?"

Kat stood and opened the door. "He is my younger brother. Would _you_ not do anything for your younger brother?"

Gilbert turned his iron cross necklace over in his hands. _Of course he would. He would do anything for West. Anything._


	7. Wir werden uns wiedersehen

((Ugh I wanted this to be longer but I ran out of ideas so last chapter! Though it's possible I might add something in somewhere in a while. Teesy bit of a pairing in this one because how could I not slip in some of my OTP when it's historically accurate? Anyways HUGE thanks to shannalauren on tumblr for looking over everything I write for grammar/spelling errors before posting and xXxMusexXx for her amazing and undeserved reviews that make me smile for hours and want to keep writing, along with everyone else who reviewed and ugh I love you guys. Thanks for sticking with me and my irregular posting schedual. I don't even have any legitimate fanfic ideas for after this I don't know when I'll write again but it's been so fun (just an Avatar:TLA parody collaboration with my friend eheheh). I guess I could see if anyone would like to request something... Anyways thanks again. :D Also watch this video youtube[dot]com/watch?v=dDZqYGVrhvw))

* * *

><p>Prussia woke in darkness again one morning the next month to a considerable weight absent from his chest. He felt around to discover that one of the large cuts on his collarbone had healed over. It wasn't one of the ones he had received from Russia directly, but the kind that just appeared on his body to reflect what had been happening to his people. He got up weakly and stumbled to the door, banging on the metal.<p>

"Kat! _Kat!_" he yelled, his voice cracking slightly from lack of use. "What happened? Something happened! Kat!"

He stepped back slightly when he was able to make out some footsteps in the hallway. The door banged open violently however, and to his horror, Russia stood silhouetted in the light. Prussia choked out a gasp as he was seized by the throat and thrown back against the wall. He glared up at the tall man and spat a bit of blood in his general direction, but refused to make another sound. The heavy boot met the side of his face before resting the entire weight of its owner on his chest. The Russian bent down and grabbed the other man's bruised jaw, bringing his battered face only inches from his own, which was twisted in fury. The false innocence was gone.

"You. Will. Never. Leave. This. Cell," he muttered through clenched teeth in barely surpressed rage. He slammed the albino's head back against the wall and swept his heavy coat around, turning and exiting in much the same manner as he had entered. The lock clicked loudly behind him.

Prussia sat where he had landed for a few minutes, holding his jaw and catching his breath that the heavy boot had expelled from his lungs. His head spun, and he reached his other hand back to feel the growing bump where his skull had connected with the stone wall.

The former empire smiled as he pulled himself up shakily to sit on his cot, however. He had been noticing these short episodes of Russia taking out his anger had become more frequent. He was stressed and redoubling his efforts to break Prussia down and beat him into submission. But Russia would never break him now. The frequency of the beatings and the fact that one of his older cuts had healed proved that Russia was slipping. Something was working against him, and it was getting worse. That is, _better_ for everyone else.

Prussia couldn't stop a flinch when the lock clicked again, but it was Yekaterina who poked her head in.

"Were you… did you call me?" she asked hesitantly, very aware of what her brother had just done.

"Yeah," he croaked, still smiling though talking was painful on his jaw. "One of my nation cuts was healed this morning. Something good must have happened. What is it?"

Kat blinked at him in surprise. "I… hold on, I'll go check."

She shut the door and returned a few minutes later with a grin. "Yes! It was in the paper. You are friends with Miss Hungary, yes?"

"What? Lizzie? Is she okay? I thought-"

Kat giggled and put a finger to his lips, pushing him back to sit on the cot he had risen from so suddenly.

"She and her people have lead many revolutions lately against the Soviet control. They lost a lot of lives and she was very hurt-"

"Is sh-"

"_But_ she won today and gained back her independence. She opened her borders, and thousands of East Germans are escaping into the West by that route," Kat explained, her smile widening. "Your people are being saved. That's why you're healing."

Prussia's mouth fell open. "Liz… Hungary opened her borders to the Soviet Union so that my people could escape?"

Kat nodded and handed him some smuggled bread.

He laughed and tore into it gratefully. "That's just like Lizzie. Of course she would never let Russia control her for long. Makes sense that she would be the first to go."

Kat gave him another smile and left as he leaned back on his cot, taking his time to chew his bread through his bruised jaw. Russia's control was weakening, Hungary was free and safe, and his people were getting helped. Things were definitely starting to look up.

He rubbed his collarbone absentmindedly.

"Thanks, Lizzie."

* * *

><p>Gilbert had stopped bothering to look up when his cell door opened anymore. He refused to let his spirit be broken by the filthy communist swine, but he had been beaten and deprived of food for too long to be willing to put in the effort to react physically.<p>

"Prussia!"

Gilbert's eyes blinked open in surprise. It wasn't Russia's voice, or Kat's.

"Like, come on! We can go!"

Gilbert blearily watched in amazement as Poland unlocked the shackles around his ankles. _Was this a dream?_

He pried open his parched lips. "What happened?" Seeing him clearly now, Poland looked a lot like he probably did: very very thin, sunken eyes, and skin littered with cuts and bruises. His hands trembled as he threw off the shackles.

"I don't really know. Russia's control just like, fell apart or something. Toris came and let me out, but everyone else left as quickly as they could."

Gilbert stumbled to his feet. "Is this for real?"

"Totes." The blond hurried out the door as fast as his injuries would allow.

Gilbert followed him, hardly daring to believe it. "And why are you-"

"Helping you?" Poland pulled himself up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing. "Like, don't get me wrong, i still don't like you, but I thought it was the decent thing to do since you did like, help me when-"

Gilbert bumped into him as the blond stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. He gazed in horror through the open door to his left.

Gilbert looked too, and felt his blood run cold. It was Russia's private study, and the man himself was sitting slumped at his desk with a half-empty bottle of vodka in one hand. The office was in complete disarray, much like its occupant's appearance.

The Russian slowly raised his head and glared at the two of them murderously. They stood rooted to the spot. After a long moment he turned away in disgust, throwing his bottle. It shattered on the door frame.

"_Get out_," he hissed.

Gilbert didn't need telling twice. He grabbed Poland's arm and yanked him down the hallway and out the door.

They both blinked in the sunlight that neither of them had seen since their last escape attempt, almost two years ago now. They took in the vast crowd of people running down the street, all in the same direction. The two nations joined the throng as they were pushed along with everyone else towards the Wall.

Most people were shoving through towards the gate while others were simply climbing over the spots where the barbed wire had been cut or trying to break the wall down. As soon as he was close enough, Gilbert leapt for the top and laboriously tried to pull himself up. The strain was lifted off his weakened muscles as Poland gave him a slight boost and he was able to swing his legs over to straddle the surprisingly thin concrete wall. Immediately he reached down to grab Poland's hand and hoist him over. They leapt down the other side and sprinted across the No Man's Land, ignoring their injuries. Gilbert hardly felt his feet touch the ground. _Because West would be over there. He could see West. He would never leave him again._

The two nations arrived at the opposite wall to see that a large section had been broken open. The Germans of West Berlin collected in a vast crowd to welcome the East Berliners with open arms.

Gilbert lost sight of Poland almost immediately after making it through the wall, but it didn't matter. They had each done their part. Only one thing mattered now.

"West! _West!_" he elbowed his way through the crowd desperately. People were patting him on the back, smiling at him, offering him beer... How long had it been since he had seen a genuine smile? Or had a swig of beer for that matter...

The buildings around him had been restored from the war. Everything was clean and proper and so very _German_ without any signs of the Soviet Union. He finally felt like he was home and that everything was just so _right_ after what had felt like an eternity of utter _wrongness._

"West! Ludwig!" he felt himself smiling even through his desperation. He finally relented and took a swig of beer through his shouts. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world as the warmth spread through his entire body.

Suddenly he was grabbed roughly by the arm and his previous thought about beer being the most wonderful feeling in the world was completely abolished.

"Bruder."

A wet face was pressed into his shoulder as thickly muscled arms wrapped tightly around him. Gilbert ran his hands gently through the slick blond hair. "H-Hey West," he choked out. "You been good while I was gone?"

Gilbert did not cry. Sometimes his eyes would water from severe pain, but not from something sissy like emotion. Gilbert did not cry from the indescribable happiness he felt as it was finally assured that he never had to go back into that hellhole. He did not cry as he promised himself that he would never again be separated from his brother. He did not cry because every emotion he had kept inside to stay strong during those forty-four months were finally released and washed over him all at once. He was not _crying_. West was just a very strong, large man and he was hugging Gilbert to his chest so tightly that he couldn't breathe and his already bruised ribs were probably cracking. Gilbert's eyes _may_ have been watering a bit from the pain and lack of oxygen, but certainly not from something sissy like joy.


End file.
